


Until I Feel Your Touch

by vvitchering (Witchering)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Tenderness, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchering/pseuds/vvitchering
Summary: Geralt and Eskel share a post-coital moment. Geralt thinks too much.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 48
Kudos: 270





	Until I Feel Your Touch

Geralt lets his head fall back into the pillows with a soft thump. A sigh, soulful and content, leaves his lips. The house is silent and the air holds the barest hint of chill, sending shivers racing across Geralt’s sweaty and oversensitive skin. He gropes around the bed with an open palm searching for the thick quilt that had been pushed aside in his haste earlier. A warm hand bats at his and a chuckle breaks the silence.

“You’ll ruin the sheets, you heathen.”

“Fuck off, its my bed.”

Eskel laughs at that, a genuine sound from deep in his belly, and the bed dips slightly as he heaves himself up. Geralt misses him immediately. He can hear Eskel puttering about in the corner of the bedroom, casting a gentle igni to warm a metal container of wash water. A prodigy of witcher signs, using his skill to wash up after sex. The old masters must be turning in their graves, Geralt thinks with a smile. 

If he cared to open his eyes, Geralt would be able to see just fine in the darkness. As it is, he keeps them closed and dozes lightly until he hears Eskel pad back across the floor on bare feet and approach Geralt’s side of the bed. The touch of the wet rag on his skin doesn’t shock him; Eskel has always been a considerate and attentive person. He drags the cloth across the plane of Geralt’s stomach and then dips lower as he cleans away the sticky evidence of their union. 

He has to bend over to reach Geralt, as the white haired witcher has very little interest in moving at all, let alone sitting up. When he finishes his task, he leans his face close to Geralt’s and ghosts his lips across the bridge of his nose, the rise of his cheekbone, and presses a kiss to the upper part of the scar that slices through Geralt’s brow.

Eskel disappears again, presumably to dispose of the rag, and this time Geralt makes an unhappy noise at being left alone. He sounds whiny and petulant and he doesn’t care. Eskel is making it incredibly difficult to enjoy the afterglow, what with his refusal to stay in one place and hold Geralt like he wants. Geralt spreads his limbs in a satisfying full body stretch and makes sure to take up as much of the bed as possible. He turns his head and buries his nose in Eskel’s pillow to inhale his scent. Eskel has always smelled like the air just after a storm: rich rain soaked earth and the bright sharpness of distant lightning that marks the scarred witcher’s affinity for magic. It’s comforting in its power and familiarity.

There’s an exasperated sigh as Eskel finally returns to the chaos of the bed and finds Geralt sprawled out over its entirety. Geralt cracks one golden eye open to evaluate Eskel’s reaction and grins lazily at his expression.

“This is the thanks I get for sparing you from an unpleasant morning.” Eskel says, half heartedly nudging the arm Geralt has thrown over his side of the bed. 

“You could sleep on the floor.” Geralt suggests.

“Cruel and unusual punishment, Wolf.”

Geralt hums, considering, and Eskel takes the opportunity to flop down on top of him. They tussle for a few moments, until the bed begins to creak ominously and Geralt calls a halt to the roughhousing. He really doesn’t want to have to explain to BB why he needs a new bed so soon. His majordomo is a patient man but Geralt isn’t keen to test how far that patience will stretch. 

They rearrange themselves, Eskel spooning up behind Geralt and radiating comfortable heat. While Geralt enjoys the feeling of safety that comes with such a position, he misses seeing Eskel’s face. He squirms in the other man’s arms and manages to flip over and bring them face to face. There are no windows in Geralt’s bedroom and the candles burned out hours ago, but his witcher-sharp eyes easily pick out Eskel’s features in the darkness. There is his strong nose, the laughter lines that crease around eyes the same shade of gold as Geralt’s own, and the scars that still make Geralt’s heart ache for their viciousness. They healed as well as could be hoped and Eskel was damn lucky that he escaped with his right eye intact, but Geralt knows it took many long terrible years for Eskel’s pride to heal, that he struggles with it even still. 

Geralt cups Eskel’s ruined cheek in his hand, traces the angry lines that split his skin and draw his upper lip into a permanent snarl. He leans easily across the short distance between them and places a kiss where the scars mar Eskel’s lip. Eskel shudders and closes his eyes. He’s hiding, shy and self-conscious, and it increases the ache in Geralt’s chest. No witcher goes to his grave unmarked by this life, but those as obviously damaged as Eskel suffer greater indignities on the path. Geralt has never met another witcher as even tempered and innately kind as Eskel, but his appearance alienates him from the world perhaps even more so than Geralt’s does. 

“You’re thinking awfully loud tonight.” Eskel comments, eyes still closed. 

”Mmm, ‘s not important. Don’t worry about it.”

Eskel opens his eyes just to roll them dramatically. His pupils are blown wide in the dark. 

“You’ve always been a shitty liar, but I got laid tonight and I’m feeling magnanimous, so I’ll let it go this once.”

Geralt pinches him on the neck for his sass, which earns him a kick in the shin beneath the covers. Before it can devolve into another impromptu wrestling match, Geralt tucks his head beneath Eskel’s chin and settles in close to him. Eskel immediately brings his arms around him, pulling him even closer and wrapping Geralt in his warmth. The rain and lightning scent is strong on the skin beneath Geralt’s nose and he feels his eyelids begin to drift closed without his permission. 

There are words he should say, feelings he should make known. Eskel’s fingers stroke complicated patterns across Geralt’s back and Geralt thinks maybe the other witcher already knows. 

He hopes so. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have approximately four billion other projects I should be working on but I'm still soft about these two, send help.
> 
> Catch up with me on tumblr and twitter @vvitchering
> 
> The lovely and talented Anna Blume created art for this fic, so please check that out! :D   
> ['Until I Feel Your Touch'](https://twitter.com/annablumedraws/status/1307551060119220224?s=20)


End file.
